Elena #2
“Should I be?”
I signed a contract agreeing to have his child, but Cliff still doesn’t know. None of our family does. And Dominic is touching me in public as if everyone should already understand. The worst part is that it feels right.
Before I can answer, my mother calls for help with the food. Dominic removes his hand, leaving the thin fabric of my dress cool where his palm had been.
“I’ll get the serving dishes,” I say.
“I know where they are.”
“This is my parents’ house.”
“I’ve been coming here for almost twenty years, El.”
He follows me inside anyway.
By late afternoon, the neighbors and most of my parents’ friends have left. Theo has been taken upstairs after discovering a patch of mud, and Sophie is supervising his bath because Rachel has apparently given up on preserving either child’s clothing.
I carry a stack of empty plates to the patio table, where Cliff, Dominic, and Marcus are arguing about a missing dormitory door from their college years.
“We returned it,” Cliff says.
“Three months later,” Marcus points out.
“That still counts.”
“You removed university property.”
Dominic leans back with one arm resting along the chair beside him. His second whiskey has been replaced by water. “Cliff believed the hinges were a design flaw.”
“They were.”
“You used a screwdriver.”
“I proved my point.”
Marcus looks at me. “This is why they’re still friends. Neither one can talk without getting the other in trouble.”
“I assumed blackmail was involved.”
Cliff points at me. “Family loyalty.”
“I’m loyal to Rachel. You’re included through marriage.”
“That isn’t how family works.”
“It is for us.”
Dominic laughs, and my head turns toward the sound.
His laugh makes me think of his hand on my back, of the way he admitted wanting Marcus gone without trying to make it sound reasonable. I need something to do with my hands.
I begin collecting plastic cups.
Marcus reaches for one. “Sit down. We can clean.”
“You’ve been sitting for an hour.”
“Exactly. I’m rested.”
“The last thing he cleaned voluntarily was his plate in 2004,” Cliff says.
“That’s not true. Back in college, Big—”
Dominic turns his head.
He doesn’t say a word. Marcus stops so abruptly the silence is a statement.
I know the rest… Big D.
The memory hits—a flash of his bare back, the low sound he made right before he came. Long enough to learn what he looks like naked, what he sounds like when he loses control, and why his friends gave him that name.
My hand is frozen around the cup.
When I look up, Dominic’s eyes are on me. Marcus is watching us both.
“Sorry.” I grab it. “Sticky.”
It’s dry.
Cliff laughs. “Some stories need to stay buried.”
“I was going to say bighearted,” Marcus says.
One of the other men snorts. “No, you weren’t.”
“It was a long time ago. Who can say?”
Dominic doesn’t take his eyes off Marcus. “I can.”
Marcus raises both hands. “I’ve forgotten the entire conversation.”
“Good.”
Cliff shakes his head. “You’ve gotten soft, Rowe.”
“Marcus has developed better judgment.”
“Debatable,” Marcus says with a grin.
The conversation shifts, but Dominic continues watching me.
I stack the cups, pick up the plates, and carry everything into the kitchen before he can ask why one unfinished word left me holding a fork for thirty seconds without knowing what to do with it.
When I return outside, he’s still there.
By the time the kitchen is clean, the sun has started to drop behind the neighboring houses. Marcus leaves with Maya, my parents take Sophie and Theo upstairs, and Cliff follows Rachel into the backyard to make sure they collected all the children’s belongings.
I say goodbye, gather my purse, and walk toward the driveway.
Dominic follows.
His hired car waits near the curb with the driver inside. Mine is parked in the driveway beside Cliff’s rental, giving us enough privacy to talk while remaining far too close to every member of my family.
I unlock my car.
“What did you think Marcus was going to say?” Dominic demands, his voice low.
“I don’t know.”
“You went completely still.”
“I was thinking.”
“About what?”
“The conversation was boring.”
His mouth curves. “Do you know the nickname?”
“No idea.”
The answer comes too quickly, and he knows it.
Dominic steps closer. “You’re a poor liar.”
“I’m an excellent liar when I’ve had time to prepare.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You shouldn’t keep any of this in mind. We’re supposed to be discussing the clinic.”
“Our appointment is next week.”
“And no one in there knows.” I glance toward the front windows, my voice tight. “This is already complicated enough, Dominic. Let’s stick to the part that isn’t.”
“The method doesn’t have to be clinical.”
His voice is low, stripping the word of its clinical meaning.
I look at him. “The method we agreed to is specific.”
“It is.”
“And preferable.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It also saves us from finding out the hard way that we’re incompatible.”
Dominic laughs.
He doesn’t give me one of his controlled half smiles. He laughs, low and genuinely amused, and the sound dismantles the wall I just tried to build between us. As if I’ve said something absurd.
“Am I amusing you?”
“I find it unlikely.”
“Do you hear how arrogant you sound?”
“Accurate.”